


Tales of Glory

by likethenight



Series: Hero Worship [6]
Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Lord of the Rings (Movies), The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Drinking & Talking, Fluff, Gen, Legends, Weddings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-16
Updated: 2020-08-16
Packaged: 2021-03-06 03:54:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,772
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25937002
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/likethenight/pseuds/likethenight
Summary: At Aragorn and Arwen's wedding, Legolas introduces Éowyn, Merry and Pippin to Glorfindel, who is very keen to thank Merry and Éowyn for proving him right.Ficlet written for Writers' Month 2020, day 16, prompt "history".
Series: Hero Worship [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1802575
Comments: 4
Kudos: 22
Collections: Writer's Month 2020





	Tales of Glory

**Author's Note:**

> I have had the bones of this sitting around in my WIP folder since about 2004, and have never quite been able to finish it, so I am delighted that Writers' Month has finally given me the opportunity/kick up the pants I needed to do so.

"I do love a good wedding," sighs Merry contentedly as he takes a draught from his third pint of the evening. Around us the festivities are in full swing, everyone in Minas Tirith celebrating the marriage of Aragorn and Arwen. It must be a long time since they have had so much to be happy about. Everyone seems so cheerful and light-hearted these days, and it's such a welcome change from when I first came here with Gandalf, when nobody knew if we would see another dawn, and the Steward's insanity cast its shadow over the city. I've really grown to love Minas Tirith, with its winding streets and towers and staircases and the stunning view across the plains to Ithilien and the mountains of Mordor. The mountains look so much less forbidding now, with the black clouds and the fiery glow gone for ever.

That's not to say I shan't be glad to go home, when the time comes. I don't want to part from the rest of the Fellowship, nor from any of the other friends I've made, but home is home, in the end, and I belong in Tuckborough. Besides, we'll be having a wedding to celebrate among our own when we go home, or my name isn't Peregrin Took. Although I imagine it'll take a bit of coaxing to get it in motion; Samwise Gamgee might have faced more horrors than I can even dream of and never given in, but I'm willing to bet my best pipe that it'll take more than one flagon of the Green Dragon's finest to get him to ask Rosie Cotton to marry him.

I look over the rim of my pint mug and see Legolas coming towards us, and I wave as much as I am able; a pint mug has one disadvantage when you're as small as Merry and I, and that's that you need two hands to hold it. Legolas has another Elf with him, someone I don't recognise straight away. This other Elf is golden-haired and blue-eyed like our Prince, but that's where the similarity ends. This Elf is big, taller even than Legolas, and broad-shouldered with it, yet he moves with the easy grace of a dancer. His hair is as golden as the sun itself, and it is held off his face by many intricate braids, woven with tiny yellow flowers. He wears a tunic and leggings, like Legolas, who has no use for robes, but his clothes are dark blue with golden embroidery, and his knee-length boots are soft black leather. He looks familiar somehow, but Legolas is introducing us before my mind makes the connection.

"Merry and Pippin! I have someone who is anxious to meet you again. Meriadoc Brandybuck and Peregrin Took, may I present to you Glorfindel of Gondolin and Rivendell, balrog slayer extraordinaire!" He bows with a flourish, and the other elf rolls his eyes and smiles.

"No matter what I do in this life, people will always remember me for the way I left the last one. Master Brandybuck, Master Took, I am honoured to meet you both." He bows with his hand on his heart, and Merry and I jump to our feet, holding out our hands for him to shake. He does so, and then we invite him to sit down, for he is going on for twice our height, even now that we are the tallest of Hobbits. He folds his tall frame onto one of the stools around our table, and we hoist ourselves back onto our own seats. Legolas sits down as well, for which I'm thankful, because I'm feeling more than a little overawed by the legendary Glorfindel, who rescued Frodo that day at the Ford.

"So tell me, my friends," Glorfindel smiles when we are all settled, "which of you killed the troll in this last battle, and which the Witch-King? Legolas has been telling me all about your adventures since last we met."

"Um. The troll. That was me." I laugh nervously. “Merry was the one who got the Witch-King."

"Not on my own," my cousin protests. “Éowyn's the one who finished him off. I just stabbed him in the leg, got him by surprise. He was so busy with all the 'no man can kill me' business that I don't think he was expecting someone to sneak up behind and stab him."

Glorfindel laughs. "Ah yes. I have already had the considerable pleasure of meeting the fair Lady Éowyn. She is indeed a brave and noble warrior. As for the 'no man can kill me business', that just goes to show what can happen when you misinterpret a prophecy and then rely on that misinterpretation." He smiles, and I'm sure I detect more than a hint of smugness on his fair Elven face.

Merry and I must look utterly confused at that, for Legolas chimes in to help us out. "My illustrious friend is referring to the prophecy by which the Witch King seems to have assumed that he could not be killed. Which is not exactly what that prophecy said. What was it again, Glorfindel?" Legolas' smile is more than a little wicked, and Glorfindel's air of smugness increases just a little. What's going on here?

"The prophecy was, if I recall correctly, 'Far off yet is his doom, and not by the hand of man shall he fall'. Which is not at all the same as 'he cannot be killed', would you not agree, my friends?"

We nod, not entirely sure what he's getting at, and Legolas can contain his mirth no longer. He lets out a great peal of laughter, shaking his head at his friend. "If you recall correctly? You ought to remember, mellon-nín; after all, you're the one who said it!"

Merry and I look at each other, then back at Glorfindel and Legolas, both of whom are laughing now. They both of them look no more than thirty, if they were Men, but for Glorfindel to have made the prophecy, and for it to have been long enough ago for everyone to have forgotten the proper interpretation, he must be very old indeed. That's the thing I still can't get my mind around about the Elves, that they're all so incredibly old even though they look as young as Merry and me.

"Ah, it was a long time ago," Glorfindel says dismissively. "An old Elf like me should be forgiven for forgetting the specifics."

"If you please, my lord," says Merry curiously, "how long ago was it?" Good old Merry, always the scholar, always keen to learn something new.

"In the year one thousand nine hundred and seventy-five of this current Age; so, one thousand and forty-four years ago, if my arithmetic is correct."

Merry's eyes go wide. "More than a thousand years ago? Then - begging your pardon, my lord - how old _are_ you?"

Glorfindel smiles. "In this life, I am somewhere around four thousand years old; not as old as Lord Elrond, but older than the Prince of Mirkwood here."

"Much older," Legolas interjects, and is rewarded with a good-natured cuff round the head from his friend.

"Which means I deserve to be treated with respect by young whipper-snappers like you, Legolas, Hero of the War of the Ring or not. In my first life, Master Merry, I cannot now remember how old I was when I died. But I knew Lord Elrond's father when he was an Elfling of six summers, and that was more or less six and a half thousand years ago."

Merry and I look at each other with wide eyes, six and a half _thousand_ years? It’s more than I can quite comprehend. Glorfindel only laughs, though, and calls for more ale, and we sit and talk and joke among ourselves, and gradually Merry and I get over our bewilderment. When Éowyn passes our table, Merry reaches out to grasp her sleeve and asks her to join us, and soon she and Legolas are telling us of what happened in Rohan while Merry and I were prisoners of the Uruk-Hai, and we tell of our escape and meeting Treebeard in Fangorn Forest. I can see why Merry likes Éowyn so much, for she is brave and strong but also kind, and very, very funny. She does impressions of her brother, and Merry chortles at how accurate they are, which leads Legolas to recount his first meeting with Éomer, out on the plains, when they had very nearly come to blows. It’s probably a good thing that Éomer is over the other side of the room, talking to a very pretty dark-haired lady and a man who looks alike enough to her to be her father, and can’t hear us. Legolas keeps glancing over there too, but somehow I’m not sure if he’s looking at Éomer or the lady or the lady’s father. 

“I must thank you both, Lady Éowyn, Master Merry,” says Glorfindel after a while, calling for more ale, “for proving me right after all these years. I’m much obliged to the pair of you.”

“Well, you are most welcome, my Lord,” says Éowyn, “but truly, we were only doing what we could to survive.”

“No matter,” says Glorfindel airily, “you still did a great deed, and that is not to be sniffed at.”

“He means proving him right, not slaying the Witch-King,” says Legolas with a sly grin, and Glorfindel cuffs him around the head again.

“I mean both, insolent Elfling,” he says, and then raised his flagon. “A toast to the slayers of the Witch-King, both for their bravery in battle, and for being so good as to prove that I knew what I was talking about all those years ago.” He laughs, and after a moment we all join in. He’s smug about it, all right, but I think he’s entitled to be. And I remember something that Legolas said to me on the Quest, even before we got to Moria, when I commented on his sense of humour and he told me that he had learned from a master, the Lord Glorfindel. I didn't think it possible at the time, for how could such a grand and famous Elf make jokes? But now I see it, I think. It doesn't matter what you've done in your life, or how people see you. It's what you are inside. So, grand as he looks, Glorfindel really just likes a drink and a joke and a good laugh with his friends. Not so very different from a Hobbit, really, in the end. Who would have thought it?

**Author's Note:**

>  **Sindarin translations:**  
>  (source: ambar-eldaron.com's dictionary, last updated October 2008):
> 
> mellon-nín: my friend
> 
> This story takes place at the same time as [The Light In The Bottle](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25845844), in which Sam scrunches up the courage to thank Galadriel for the Light of Eärendil.
> 
> The lady Éomer is talking to is Lothíriel of Dol Amroth, whom he will marry in a couple of years' time, and her father is Prince Imrahil. Readers of my series [A Little Piece of the Sea](https://archiveofourown.org/series/39969) will know which one of them Legolas can't stop looking at. :D
> 
> Meanwhile, Glorfindel tells his tale again in [Not By The Hand Of Man](https://archiveofourown.org/works/9489104), this time to a re-embodied Ecthelion in Valinor, with Erestor on hand to be the long-suffering enabler and 'citation needed'.


End file.
